


Sanguine

by LadyHallen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Female Harry, Gen, Harry is a vampire, VERY CUTE HARRY, chibi harry vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10018040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: Harry didn't know what a vampire was. Was it any wonder she thought drinking blood was normal? Rated T for insinuated graphical images.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry didn’t know she was a vampire until she turned eleven.

Until then, she thought that drinking a bit of blood and waking up only at night was normal. Well, it’s not like her relatives ever let her out of the basement until then, but that was only because of an accident. She had freaky weird luck and she is sticking to that excuse.

But going back to the point, Harry never really knew that she was a vampire. She didn’t have a craving for blood, only that blood was the only thing she could eat or drink. She never sweated, never needed to go to the bathroom and she never grew up.

That last part was the point of it. Harry couldn’t mark the passing time in the complete darkness of the basement, but she did notice if her caretaker got older and older. Aunt Petunia had more white in her hair as time passed. White hair and darker frowns.

Harry wasn’t stupid though.

Even though she never finished her education, she had the mishmash of several people’s knowledge in her mind.

After all, blood was the currency of her kind. Vampires exchanged information through blood and received knowledge from their victims with just a bite.

Harry had knowledge in her from an old, sprightly man that had once been a professor in a university and from a kind young woman that was a housewife. She had the knowledge from an ambitious young woman that had Eidetic Memory and from a young businessman that started his business from sheer guts and bravery. She received her understanding of morality from a nun and a priest.

And then one day, a half-giant knocked on her basement door.

Harry’s sensitive ears picked up her aunt’s imploring and her pleading, of another person – a strangers voice – saying things in a very angry way.

Harry made up her mind the moment her door gave way. If this person made her aunt cry, she would eat him.

.

* * *

 

.

“Alright there, Harry?” the half-giant asked kindly. He stopped on the threshold of her territory, shocked at the amount of venom on her face, and of how she still looked like she was seven years old.

“Is my aunt crying?” Harry asked with a soft voice. She had learned from the businessman that speaking softly when you were angry made people listen better. “Did you make her cry, sir?”

Hagrid, for that was the half-giant, looked back to where Petunia was wringing her hands in worry. But no, thank Merlin, the woman was not crying.

He told this to the girl and she relaxed.

“Thank you,” she told him. “Now, tell me why you are here, or you can slit your hand and I will drink the knowledge from you.”

Hagrid sat down.

.

* * *

 

.

“How shall I pay for what we shop?” she asked Hagrid as they shopped.

A wide-brimmed sun hat covered her face and the rest of her body was covered, wearing a very long skirt, gloves on her hands and boots on her feet. To top it off was an umbrella.

Harry noticed the wide berth the rest of the shoppers give her and doesn’t care.

Hagrid looked cheerful and very glad to be in the sunlight. “Professor Dumbledore told me to leave you the key to your vault. You should take care of it Harry.”

She nodded and placed it under her hat. It would take a special sort of idiot to rob a vampire.

.

* * *

 

.

Hagrid, Harry came to realize, loved all sorts of dangerous creatures. There was a sort of calming feel to his presence that made creatures love him.

There was also enough beast in vampirism that Harry recognized this and she laughed as she embraced the confused half-giant. She pitied him a little because she understood his confusion. Just two days ago, she had threatened to eat him if he upset her aunt.

Her aunt was very happy to see her in robes. Harry was, after all, the last of the family left. Uncle Vernon and Dudley had left once she got turned into a vampire.

“You look beautiful, Harry,” she whispered.

Harry hugged her carefully, concentrating not to crush her aunt with her strength. She sometimes misjudged, proven by the number of broken doorknobs she had gone through before she adjusted. Sometimes, it was just safer not to touch. It was, however, folly to think she could do that throughout her life. Practice was all she had left.

.

* * *

 

.

The Red Steam Engine got Harry’s affection, simply because it was _red_.

She doesn’t have many preferences in her short life, but she did prefer red, because it usually signified food.

Harry tried not to smile too much, since it made people draw away from her.

.

* * *

 

.

It wasn’t until nearly twilight that Harry experienced the hunger pangs of her kind.

Her aunt had spoiled her with blood, feeding her every day since her turning. Her current location made her feel, for the first time, the hunger pangs of her kind.

It was a lucky thing that Harry was a four year-old vampire. If she had been newly turned, there would have been no students disembarking the train. As it was, Harry contained herself and brooded irritably.

She contemplated asking one of the students for a meal but changed her mind once they all flinched as she turned her attention to them.

Harry shrugged and looked back outside the window with a frown.

Her eyes had turned red in her hunger and slowly but surely, the scent of fear permeated the small compartment.

.

* * *

 

.

None of the first years realized how close they all came to dying once it got revealed what other mode of transportation there was to get to the castle.

Harry’s instinctive hatred of water warred with the morals that she absorbed from the nun.

It was a tough battle but morals won. The boat, however, would never be the same again. Particularly the side of the boat where Harry sat, with the strange claw marks that nobody could ever explain in the later years.

.

* * *

 

.

For those who had recognized what she was, they avoided her.

Those that knew what she could do, they treated her like a wild animal.

Those, however, that _understood_ the true nature of her kind, looked at her with undisguised fascination.

It was very rare for one of her kind to be able to wield a wand (it was a magical _stake_ enough said.) or control themselves enough to wake up at class hours and behave enough to listen to class, let alone write essays.

Potions though.

Potions was something that everybody agreed was something they all ought to avoid but were forced to attend through school rules and complete _morbid fascination_.

Harry and Snape had taken one look at each other and knew, without a doubt, that they hated each other without reservation.

Harry didn’t even know if it was genetics or her instincts screaming at her. She only knew that she wanted to watch him explode.

And she applied that in the potions classroom, where the ingredients were a disaster waiting to happen if you mixed it wrong.

Ron had taken her aside after two explosions in a row, looking a bit singed but exasperated.

“Mate,” he said seriously. “I know you can’t get hurt, or burned or cooked by whatever it is you and Snape are doing in that classroom. But can you at least make sure some of us learn something before you start?”

Harry cocked her head to the side and considered.

.

* * *

 

.

“What’s all this?” Hermione Granger asked, looking at all the small booklets stacked together, each with individual names.

Harry, because she never slept at night and only lightly dozed in the morning, blinked at her sleepily. “It’s a review book, based on all your strengths and weaknesses, with different examples and questions to make things easier,” the vampire mumbled. “Ron was complaining about potions, you see.”

Lavander and Parvati looked incredulous. “And you did this in one night?” they asked.

Harry nodded, still with eyes closed.

Neville, because he is the practical sort and he knew that nobody really did anything without asking for anything in return, stepped forward and got everybody’s attention.

“It’s really nice Harry,” he said softly. “And it will help me with a lot – don’t think I didn’t notice that mine is a bit bigger than the others – but what do you want in return?”

Here, the seven year-old looking girl sits, looking very awake and fidgeting a little. All of them resist the urge to call her cute. The last one who had done it had gotten sent to the hospital wing for a week.

“Uhm,” she started. “Blood pops are very nice. And Professor Dumbledore doesn’t complain if I ask some cows blood from the kitchen but that can’t replace human blood and I’m _hungry_ all the time..”

The first years and those listening Gryffindors looked horrified.

Because they had been inadvertently _starving_ _a vampire._

Hermione Granger and Dean Thomas were brilliant people and explained the concept of blood donation. There were also enough people in Gryffindor tower to keep her well fed for the entire year and not cause anybody anemia.

Blood, just for some more review booklets. Everybody looked at her funny when she said that it was very simple.

If they didn’t know she could do this, then vampires were sadly misconstrued in this society.

.

* * *

 

.

The third floor corridor had initially attracted her attention because there was an intense feeling of…hunger beyond the door.

She changed her mind though once she got confronted by the three-headed dog. Hagrid’s scent was all over him, and it was obvious he was the hungry one. Poor thing. Harry wondered what Hagrid was doing since the poor dog was willing _to eat her_ of all people.

She couldn’t avoid it anyway because the troll practically dragged her there, making Harry bare her teeth in annoyance.

If there was one thing stronger than her, it had to be a troll.

.

* * *

 

.

“Harry Potter,” Professor Quirrell said, voice deep and far smoother than he usually sounded in class.

Harry cocked her head to the side and finally realized why she had been continuously hungry for the past year. This man, this creature, had tried to break into her mind. Her natural shields had repelled him at the cost of her health and her body had asked for payment in blood.

“You vile creature,” she said softly, temper shimmering just beneath the surface. “You made me drink that much blood. Nobody tells me what to do.”

Aside from her aunt, that is, but nobody knew that.

With a snarl, Harry threw herself forward and bared her teeth.

Quirrell’s eyes widened and his turban unraveled.

.

* * *

 

.

Funnily enough, nobody ever found Professor Quirrell’s body, but since everybody knew where Harry was on the night of the disappearance, nobody pointed fingers at her. The Gryffindor’s were strangely proud, but when prodded, they all kept mum.

That year, the Gryffindors won the House Cup by a landslide and everybody scratched their heads in bewilderment. Even Neville Longbottom who was only good in Herbology, _passed_ transfiguration with very high marks.

Harry just smiled beatifically and sipped her flask.

.

* * *

 

.

“Harry,” Aunt Petunia greeted her with a careful hug and a sparkling smile. She still looked tired and exhausted, but Harry hoped that the knowledge that she had enough blood for a month and a half would ease her worry.

It was always a worry to purchase blood. The muggles always traced it back to the buyers.

“Did you have a good year, aunt Petunia?” Harry asked underneath her wide-brimmed hat.

Her aunt smiled. “A very good year, little Harry. What about you?”

Harry just smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Year

In response for sleeping so little during her school year, the first thing Harry did once she got home was sleep.

To be fair, she warned her aunt since she could feel the weight of it creeping on her, that dread exhaustion that made her want to collapse and just hibernate like a bear in winter.

That was probably why Harry dreamed for the first time.

.

* * *

 

.

_There was a girl, playing in the snow._

_Her aunt tolerated her enough to toss her warm clothes and sturdy boots. Her uncle outright hated her and her practical aunt told her to ‘stay out of his way when he gets home, Harry.’ Cousin Dudley tossed toys at her and Harry went out to play and be alone. Aunt Petunia sneaked her some food when she could anyway._

_But Harry was hungry. No matter how much her aunt tried, Harry was a growing child with very high metabolism._

_So the candy that the man gave her was welcome, even if it made her wrinkle her nose._

_“You don’t have a sandwich?” she asked. “I am very hungry, you know.”_

_The man was very fat. He probably never felt hungry in his life. Harry hated him just a little. He reminded her of Uncle Vernon._

_The moment the candy touched her lips, Harry fell asleep. She didn’t wake up when the man picked her up to his car. She didn’t wake up when the sun went down and a fanged man emerged from the alleyway. She didn’t wake up when the fanged man ate the pedophile._

_She did wake up when the fanged man bit her and she did so with a scream._

_It hurt and it burned and she wanted to die but she was already dying. Something pulsed inside Harry and pushed the vampire away, but it was too late and the venom was already changing her._

.

* * *

 

.

Harry blinked herself into wakefulness and her eyes were already red.

She was hungry.

Without pausing, her little hand reached under the bed and found a flask.

Aunt Petunia opened the door, like she always did, and sagged with relief at the sight of Harry awake. Her smile made her face look beautiful and eased the bitter wrinkles around her mouth.

“Good evening, little Harry,” Aunt Petunia greeted. “How was your sleep?”

Harry pushed herself off from the bed. “Surprisingly refreshing. Aunt Petunia, I seem to have dreamed of the past.”

Her aunt’s smile froze on her face and she nodded without cheer. “Ah, the past. Harry, have you ever thought of changing the past?”

She contemplated that over a mouthful of blood. “It is the past,” she answered eventually after swallowing. “There is no need to ruminate over what has been done, but we would do well to learn from the mistakes of those who came before us.”

.

* * *

 

.

Harry had accepted what she was once she realized that she was different. She had cranked open a book about Magical Creatures and knew that she was one of those Dark Creatures that wizards hunted. As such, she didn’t actually think she would get any letters from her constant food sources during the year.

When a house-elf popped up with dire warnings and clutching packages and letters, Harry did not hesitate pining it to the floor and knocking it unconscious. She would have eaten it but Aunt Petunia told her not to eat guests and the thing was a guest, even if it had caught her unawares.

With a deft hand, she untied the bundle of letters and opened the packages. What she saw made her mood sour.

Several packets of blood, thankfully with some preservation charms on it, and an entire package of Blood Pops.

She gave the house-elf a beady look. How dare it keep away dessert!

.

* * *

 

.

“No, Harry,” Aunt Petunia scolded her. “You can’t eat it. He says he is a house-elf. That must mean someone is going to miss him. What if someone ate Hedwig?”

Harry balefully glared at the Snowy white owl and the owl hooted imperiously before glaring right back. Both of them had a love-hate relationship in that they hated each other but if someone else attacked the other, both of them would team up.

As Hermione summed up, “So, you mean to say you have an Owl-Complex? Nobody could pick on her except you?”

Harry had snarled at her too, but that was beside the point.

“Why is he here anyway? And keeping away my dessert too!” Harry demanded.

Aunt Petunia chuckled a little. “Don’t be such a spoiled little brat, Harry. You’ve never really needed dessert before, or snacks at three in the morning.”

.

* * *

 

.

Through lethal glares, Dobby caved like wet tissue. Hedwig probably nailed it by flying close and almost hitting Dobby with her claws.

“I am a vampire!” Harry exclaimed. “A deadly creature of the night. I do not need to be warned off about danger. People run away from me instead.”

Aunt Petunia did not laugh, but she suspiciously gave a series of coughs. Harry eyed her and then refocused on the cowering house-elf.

“And anyway,” she continued. “Nobody ever tells me what to do, not even you.”

She bared her teeth and Dobby popped away with a squeak of alarm.

Pity. He smelled quite lovely too.

.

* * *

 

.

What was the effect of magic on vampirism?

Harry didn’t know. She only knew that she went through the passage to the Hogwarts Express and only felt a slight subtle twinge on her shoulders. She shrugged and went on, her eyes roving over the red Express fondly.

It still gleamed and hummed, exhaling copious amounts of steam.

Harry patted it fondly as she went aboard, ignoring the shouts of the people behind her as they found the barrier closed.

.

* * *

 

.

“It’s the first time the Express ever left late, even for a second!” Hermione exclaimed. She looked like a strange combination of indignant and excited.

Harry blinked lazy eyes at her, eyeing her with curiosity. “Hmm, and the adults could not break the enchantment on the barrier?” she asked.

One of the first years who had wandered in the compartment recoiled, as people always did when they heard her speak for the first time.

“They had to apparate people in the station,” Hermione answered, well-used to the flinching. “They had volunteers to do it. The ministry is examining it later.”

Ron chuckled. “Malfoy was furious, did you see the look on his face when the barrier slammed him on his arse as he fell?”

People around her laughed and Harry closed her eyes again. Hermione woke her up with the question, “Harry, how did you get past the barrier?”

Harry popped open one eyelid and one first year fell over in surprise when it was blood red.

.

* * *

 

.

“This is my sister, Ginny,” Ron introduced.

Ginny ducked shyly and Harry looked at her with fascination. Her hair, in particular. Weasley’s all had red hair, but Ginny’s hair was a darker shade of red and it reminded her of food.

“She looks delicious,” Harry said honestly.

The first year squeaked in alarm.

.

* * *

 

.

As it had become almost traditional, Harry made review booklets in exchange for blood. It wasn’t even something that could be passed around since each booklet was personalized.

The first years all looked terrified of the needles and Harry watched the proceedings with a lazy eye. Everybody always flapped around when the needles came into view. They seemed to prefer if a wand was used to do it.

“I could always go straight for the source,” she remarked. “It always feels better if it gushes around my lips anyway.”

There was silence, and then nobody else protested.

Harry sighed.

.

* * *

 

.

Despite what everyone in Gryffindor tower imagined, Harry didn’t spend all of her time creeping around at night, making everybody paranoid. She only did that some of the time.

The rest of it, she spent wandering around the castle and occasionally seeing interesting things.

Like, for instance, a wandering first year without shoes.

Harry stared, and then approached. “You look rather lost,” she said.

The first year didn’t jump back, or squack in alarm. She just looked at Harry, a surprised expression etched on her face. “Hello. But no, I am not lost. Everyone else is just missing.”

How terribly amusing. Harry left her a blanket.

.

* * *

 

.

Gilderoy Lockhart was someone Harry found that she could treat like a pet.

He was amusing, did terribly entertaining things and had absolutely no idea how easily she could squish his skull in like a melon.

The rest of her year class looked exasperated. It was enough that potions class had devolved into a competition between her and Snape, on whether who could kill a student or something. But DADA too?

Hermione, in particular, looked like she wanted to cry.

“He’s adorable,” she said once her classmates managed to corral her in the common room to explain her smile. “He’s like a hamster, running around in his wheel and having no idea how easily his owner could kill him.”

Lavender Brown looked stricken. Apparently, her pet rabbit was sickly because she forgot to feed it.

Nobody could quite bring themselves to scold Harry, but Parvati came close.

.

* * *

 

.

When the petrifications started, Harry was extremely annoyed when people looked at her suspiciously.

Her Gryffindors, at least, gave her the benefit of the doubt, but she bared her fangs at the more audacious ones.

“Why on earth would I petrify people?” she asked the more idiotic ones like Ernie from Hufflepuff. “It’s a waste of food. I’d rather eat them than petrify them. At least I’d get a good meal out of it.”

Before the Hufflepuff could recoil, Harry added thoughtfully, “Don’t worry. I won’t eat you unless I get really hungry. You smell really foul to me. I wonder what you ate.”

A passing Dean Thomas choked on his laughter and ran off.

.

* * *

 

.

Like last time, Harry found herself dragged to danger, only this time by a harried and very worried older brother by the name of Ron Weasley.

Harry could have easily snapped his hand like a twig, but this was interesting. It more than made up for the boredom of the rest of the school year (barring that very intriguing failure of a Dueling Club that gave her a pet snake via Malfoy.)

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m going to get Professor Lockhart,” he said, panting as he ran. Harry easily kept pace. “I’ve figured out the location of the Chamber of Secrets. Granger helped.”

Hermione, who was petrified.

Harry cocked her head to the side as they ran. Absentmindedly, she wondered how it would feel like to run until ones ribs felt like creaking. Ah, humans.

“You’re better off getting Flitwick, or Hagrid,” Harry mused. “The pet professor would squawk and run like a chicken, except the chicken would be better because it can feed humans.”

Ron stopped, looking dumbstruck. “Of course! You’re a vampire!”

She cocked her head to the side like a bird. “And you just figured it out now?” she asked.

Ron shook his head. “No, silly. You’re a vampire. You can probably go against the basilisk without getting hurt.”

He trusted her so implicitly to save his sister. Harry wanted to eat him.

.

* * *

 

.

Immortal doesn’t mean invulnerable. People often forgot that. Harry didn’t.

She’d once forgot to being her hat and umbrella and nearly got blinded by the bright sunlight.

She didn’t melt in sunlight (or glitter in it – which was ridiculous no matter how many times she heard it.) She just hated it. Her eyes were keen and very sharp. It had evolved itself to be able to see in the dark. To be thrust in the sunlight was like having a soldier wearing night-vision getting hit by a flash grenade.

Vampirism was an evolution to something stronger than a human, yet also weaker. Because all the weaknesses of humans were amplified, as well as their strengths.

Harry stared down the basilisk behind her sunglasses and scowled when they cracked under the pressure of its magic. She extended her nails and scratched, jumping forward for momentum.

To her irritation, it barely got scratched.

“How annoying,” she hissed. The apparition of Tom Riddle looked very disturbed and fascinated at the same time. “I chipped a nail.”

It was time to get serious. There was probably a reason why the Basilisk was rated as a triple X creature in her book.

.

* * *

 

.

How…bloody annoying.

Harry stared down at the sword of Gryffindor with dislike.

It glittered and winked merrily.

Harry resisted the strange impulse to toss it away and stamp on it.

To relieve her frustration for being unable to drink some blood (because Tom Riddle was _intangible_ , that cheating bastard.), Harry kicked a black diary by her foot and tossed it into the basilisk’s gaping maw.

After a beat of silence, Ginnny Weasley stirred and then saw Harry, scrambling backwards hurriedly.

Harry rolled her eyes and flickered back to the bathroom.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry hung out in Angelina Johnson’s rooms, and she was _not sulking_.

She had two decanters of blood and was doing the vampiric version of being drunk, or as it was, trying to get drunk.

Everybody was so happy. It made her itch.

“They can all share happiness,” Harry murmured, looking at the moon through her glass bottles of blood. It painted the moon such a nice, pretty color. “But everything just feels numb.”

She stared at the moon wistfully and itched to decapitate someone.

On her lap, her pet snake coiled around her wrist in reassurance.

.

* * *

 

.

On a whim, Harry dragged herself out of the dorms to see if the hallways changed if the students partied. Maybe the suits of armor unstuck themselves and danced, or perhaps the portraits did ridiculous faces to outdo each other.

There really was no change, except that she encountered a fleeing teacher.

With a laugh, Harry caught him by the throat and opened her mouth wide for a nice meal.

He tasted of detergent and floral soap. Harry wanted to regurgitate him right back. His blood did teach her how to properly cast the obliviate charm, given that he kept doing it wrong and his victims turned out to be drooling imbeciles.

When the nun inside her berated her, Harry shrugged and reasoned that the world was burdened less by one idiot, how could it be so very bad?

.

* * *

 

.

“Where’s Professor Lockhart?” someone remarked. “It’s amazing that he wasn’t with the party last night. I mean, he seems to be the sort to like events.”

Someone else coughed out, “Valentine’s Day?”

And there was a bout of laughter.

.

* * *

 

.

Like always, Aunt Petunia greeted her with a smile and a very big umbrella. Harry ran to her, if only for the shade provided. That’s what she told herself anyway.

“Hello, Aunt Petunia. Did you have a nice year?” she greeted.

Her aunt patted her on the cheek and didn’t show alarm when the black snake peeked it’s head out of her bun.

“Yes, thank you Harry. I see you have a new pet. What does he eat?”

Harry stood still and stared at the snake. The snake stared back.

“Uhm,” she stuttered, looking flustered. “I haven’t fed him yet.”

Aunt Petunia nearly dropped her hand bag.

“I got him about two months ago…?” Harry continued, a bit ashamed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third Year

Any grown vampire would tell Harry that at a certain point in her undead life, she would not need to feed quite often.

It was a common fact among vampires, but a not so common fact among everybody else. It marked the point of maturing and getting into their own powers, settling into a specific skill.

Since Aunt Petunia never waited until she was hungry to feed her, Harry never knew this. She did, however, notice when she felt bloated every time she fed and told her aunt so.

“Perhaps you no longer need so much,” Aunt Petunia wondered, a finger tapping her lips. “Let’s content ourselves in giving you food twice a day.”

Harry was horrified.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry often wondered where her sire was.

She still felt him, at the back of her mind, moving about like a cockroach. She often wondered what he was doing and who else he was eating. Surely not little girls like her? She barely had a pint of blood in her body when she was alive.

Perhaps it was like a delicacy, like the ice cream that Aunt Petunia coveted.

A stray thought entered her mind, about newly born infants only having one cup of blood in their bodies and how such new, fresh blood would taste like.

The priest in her howled up a storm about ‘innocence’ and ‘damnation’.

Harry sighed and flopped back on the bed.

.

* * *

 

.

“Really Harry,” Aunt Petunia muttered when she woke up at dawn and found the young vampire playing with a very large dog – albeit an emaciated one at that. “Act like a proper vampire, would you?”

Now, that was a thought. Harry folded her legs and sat down thoughtfully.

“How does a proper vampire act like?” she remarked. “Creeping around like a stalker and scaring the living daylights out of people?”

Aunt Petunia laughed as she started her breakfast. “That makes you sound like a peeping tom.”

“Peeping _Thomasina_ ,” Harry corrected primly. “And I do like the idea of scaring daylight, though I wonder how that phrase came to be. Daylight is such a foul thing, isn’t it?”

The dog barked out laughter and Aunt Petunia and Harry exchanged glances.

.

* * *

 

.

“He must be a wizard dog,” Harry concluded as they both stared at the sleeping dog. “He is so dreadfully intelligent.”

Aunt Petunia was skeptical. “There are intelligent animals, my dear. They don’t need to be anything magical, just well-bred. This one looks like he’s been run under a bus and chewed by a tiger.”

“He looks starved,” Harry said. “I wonder what he eats.”

Her aunt gave her a wry look. She was fully of the opinion that Harry shouldn’t be entrusted with the lives of other people. Hedwig would have starved if she hadn’t hunted and the snake, which was a black mamba, would have died if it hadn’t been the sort to hibernate and conserve its own energy.

“You say that now,” Aunt Petunia said. “But I don’t think you should keep him. If he’s well behaved, he’d die because you forgot to feed him.”

If vampires could blush, Harry would have.

.

* * *

 

.

More problems rose up when Aunt Petunia received a letter from Dudley, saying that he wanted to visit.

Aunt Petunia broke down crying, blubbering about ‘missing her Dudders’ and wondering if he had gotten friends.

Harry sulked in the basement.

.

* * *

 

“No, Harry,” Aunt Petunia said with exasperation. “I don’t want to let Dudley live here. Mercy knows that keeping up with you is trying enough, and I spend most of the time blissfully unconscious instead of wondering what you’re doing.”

Harry digs in the blankets petulantly. “You like him more than me,” she muttered. “I don’t want him here.”

Aunt Petunia exhales a deep gust of air. “Well, do you want to visit your friends while he’s here?” she asked as compromise.

Harry doesn’t answer. Aunt Petunia sighed again and slipped in with her niece on the bed, her arms easily encircling Harry’s small frame.

“I love Dudley,” Aunt Petunia whispered. “Because he is my son and I am his mother. But I love you more because you look at me with your eyes and smile like starlight, and you make me melt with happiness.”

Harry removed the blanket covering her face and looked up at her Aunt with a pout. “Alright,” she conceded. “He can come. But if he gets mean, can I eat him?”

Aunt Petunia laughed.

.

* * *

 

.

Dudley came and with it, Harry’s realization of time.

Oh, she knew that she was frozen, eternally in the age when she got turned, but to have it shoved on her face filled her with bitterness.

Her last memory of her cousin was a small boy with a lot of questions and a slightly spoiled thing since his parents indulged his every temper tantrum.

Dudley had grown and become a big boy of thirteen, his shoulders broad and his legs clumsy. He was in a growth spurt and that seemed to translate into bumping into corners and tripping over nothing.

Harry stayed away from him.

.

* * *

 

.

Among all the beings in the house, the only ones Harry could talk to without reservation was Aunt Petunia and Hedwig. The snake counted too, but since it was very difficult to discern snake expressions, Harry discounted him.

“I’m bored,” she told her audience of three. “And Aunt Petunia is still fussing over Dudley. Do you think I can go out and hunt some idiots down at the pub?”

Hedwig just turned her back and hooted disapprovingly. The dog barked once and its tongue lolled out, letting out a bit of drool. The snake didn’t move an inch.

“If I eat someone, Aunt Petunia will get upset,” she muttered. “I wonder if I can manage to dissolve into the blackness like that vampire movie we watched. Dracula was a mediocre film but at least they had imagination.”

 Harry experimented and grinned when her hands dissolved into two bats.

.

* * *

 

.

Things came to a head when Dudley discovered her playing around with her food in the basement.

While her ears would never be the same again, it was still something to see a great lump like him faint.

“So,” she started when Aunt Petunia arrived at a run. “I guess you never told him that I’m still alive?”

Aunt Petunia looked annoyed. “You are, technically, dead.”

“I guess I’ll just kip over to the Leaky Cauldron,” she said with amusement. “I don’t think the house can handle him fainting anymore, the foundation would break.”

.

* * *

 

.

Another reason why Harry concluded that the dog was a wizard dog was because he didn’t flee at the sight of her.

Most animals knew they were in the presence of a better predator and just ran for their lives or cowered down and tried not to attract attention. This dog…

“Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron,” the innkeeper greeted, his eyes widening at the sight of her umbrella, her hat and all the cloth that covered her.

“I’d like a room for the rest of the summer,” Harry said, standing on tip toe so she could reach the counter and sign the guest book. “Until September 1st.”

The man blinked at her, and then goggled at the name written.

“Of course, Miss Potter. Would you like Breakfast with that?” he asked.

Harry smiled at him angelically and the man looked creeped out. “My Aunt packed for me, so no, thank you.” She paused and turned back to the counter. “Out of curiosity, what do you serve for breakfast?”

The barkeep gulped. “It’s an option between pigs blood and cows blood, my lady.”

Harry wrinkled her nose. No wonder the vampires in the wizarding world attacked humans. The service really was terrible, if they thought such inferior blood kept away the hunger.

.

* * *

 

.

The monster book of monsters cowered when Harry went near it.

The salesman nearly wept and Harry scowled at him. If that was the precedent for Care of Magical Creatures, then Harry was lucky she had taken the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes as electives.

Though, Harry wondered why Hermione looked close to despairing when Harry announced her electives to those who asked.

.

* * *

 

.

“Harry!” Ron gasped when he saw the vampire lounging by the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry blinked at him slowly. She was still sleepy and he was noisy.

“Yes, hello,” she said. “How may I help you?”

The young wizard seemed to be in shock. Harry wondered why, and then the doorway behind him filled up with more red-heads, some of them familiar, some of them not.

Why, there was a scarred red-head who smelled absolutely delicious.

Harry, who had been rationing the last of her blood bags, and was thus a bit hungry, stood up and stalked towards the group, her dainty little feet not making any sound.

“Harry?” Ginny asked.

Harry ignored her and approached the scarred one. He was stocky and very broad shouldered. She ignored that as venom pooled in her mouth and her instincts urged her to bite him.

“You smell delicious,” she told him bluntly. “And I wonder how wonderful your blood would taste like.”

The red-head blushed. “Thank you. You’re Harry Potter, aren’t you? You saved my sisters life. I’m sure I can give you some.”

Her smile was beatific.

.

* * *

 

.

“That’s creepy,” Hermione told her bluntly once the bushy-haired Gryffindor located her rooms. “What are you doing?”

Harry swallowed her mouthful of Charlie Weasley’s blood, eyes closing in momentary bliss.

“I’m eating,” Harry answered when she regained her senses. “You’ve seen me eat before.”

“Not...like that.”

Indeed. All other people’s blood seemed to pale in comparison to the taste of Charlie’s blood. It was like comparing a steak to a veggie salad.

“It’s a very lovely blood,” Harry confided to Hermione like a teenager sharing gossip. “I don’t know what he eats, but he is absolutely lovely. I wonder how the rest of him would taste like.”

Hermione changed the topic to Runes and Arithmancy.

.

* * *

 

.

The Hogwarts Express gleamed and puffed out smoke in the morning light.

Harry beamed at its merry and respectable color.

“I wonder if I can find a dress the same color as you,” she told the train as she boarded. “I’m sure it would be an absolutely brilliant thing to wear.”

.

* * *

 

.

The man whose compartment she shared smelled atrocious.

Harry wrinkled her nose and left her luggage in there and searched for another place to settle in.

She found some of the older Gryffindors who she had done several favors for in exchange for a good meal and they welcomed her with cheer.

“The new Defense Professor smells terrible,” she confided to them. “I have no idea why.”

“Natural dislike?” Percy asked.

She nodded. “He’s like a vampire-repellent.”

“If only we could have some of that when you get it into your head to scare us out of our wits,” Oliver said dryly.

.

* * *

 

.

The Dementors and Harry were not a good combination.

For the first time in her life, Harry’s instincts overpowered her control and she flew back into the compartment, nearly flattening the Gryffindors. Her body pooled into inky blackness and her fangs bared, spitting venom.

A white thing chased off the Dementors and Harry’s sense returned and with it, her shame.

“Oh dear,” she murmured. “I am sorry for being scary.”

Oliver Wood laughed shakily. “I wish the Dementors could apologize for nearly sucking our souls out.”

.

* * *

 

.

Hermione’s scent was all over Hogwarts.

Harry could do what she was doing with some effort, because splitting yourself was just something she had recently experimented in, but Hermione still smelled whole but tired.

Harry wondered how she did it.

Not that she cared. Hermione was now one of those people who weren’t able to donate blood to Harry due to the possibility of falling into an illness. (Apparently, having so little sleep was a detriment to the blood count, who knew?)

This seemed to upset the bookworm as Harry had to work extra hard to make the booklets for her, as some of the subjects were something she had not taken as an elective.

.

* * *

 

.

On the first DADA lesson, all of her classmates held their breath.

Harry and Professor Lupin locked eyes and Harry recoiled, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Is everything alright, Miss Potter?” Professor Lupin asked.

Harry scowled at him. She wouldn’t say that she found him repulsive. She had gotten enough grief from McGonagall in first year when Harry had said loudly that the teacher smelled like catnip and fur.

“Peachy. Completely fruit-like,” Harry responded flatly.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry’s boggart was a headless Aunt Petunia.

Her scream broke several windows before Seamus snapped her out of it.

.

* * *

 

.

Hogsmeade was something out of a snowy fairy tale.

Harry loved it and endeavored that the next time she came, she would dress the part. Perhaps like a knight, or a paladin.

Or maybe a vampire.

She laughed and shared the idea with Dean Thomas, who was the only one to share her enthusiasm.

“Shame that Hogwarts doesn’t have a Drama Club,” the half-blood wizard said. “We could have some fun with their costumes.”

“We’ll have to settle on living the part,” Harry sighed. “Even if I can’t eat anything aside from blood. I wonder how their beer tastes like.”

.

* * *

 

.

Quidditch, the bane of Harry’s life because it was played on bright, sunny days and collected a happy and loud crowd.

When it forecasted to be played on a thunderstorm, Harry was so happy that she scared several people.

“I love the rain, especially thunderstorms. It usually means it’s cloudy enough and I can go out of the house,” she confided to Lavender.

Lavender nodded. “It must be a terrible thing, to be stuck only at night.”

Harry sighed, thinking of all the missed television shows and the times where she couldn’t creep out the postman. “You have no idea,”

.

* * *

 

.

The Dementors descended and Percy groaned.

“Not again,” he muttered.

Harry became one with the darkness, little tendrils of it creeping out and attempting to punch holes in the Dementors.

As one, the teachers drove them out and the game was finished. The stands had several holes where Harry had stood and no one could answer how she had done it.

.

* * *

 

.

“Psst!” someone hissed.

Harry raised an eyebrow and looked around.

Not that she was surprised that someone was talking to her, per se. She was just surprised someone had the gall to talk to her in Potions class.

“Are you going to hunt him down?” Malfoy asked.

Harry cocked her head to the side and forgot about her stewing potion.

“Who?”

Malfoy looked incredulous. “You don’t know? There’s an escaped convict after you and you don’t know?”

Harry understood. “Oh, you mean that Black fellow. Certainly, he is welcome to come after me,” she answered. “It’s always easier on me if my meals come to me, you know? Less of a hassle that way. Though I wonder how a convict would taste like. Probably gnaw-y and tough.”

.

* * *

 

.

The Fat Lady fled after Sirius Black clawed off her portrait.

Harry watched all the humans squawking around like headless chickens.

She rather liked chickens because their blood tasted alright, even if one had to go through feathers to drink it.

“I can stand guard for you,” she offered to the Headmaster. “I can even do it for free, if you’re so concerned about your blood.”

Albus Dumbledore looked at Harry and at the strangely eager glint in her eyes. “No, my dear. We’ll settle for finding another portrait.”

Harry was disappointed. One of the goblin guards she had chatted up in Diagon Alley had told her that they had free reign to do as they liked to trespassers.

Harry liked the idea of free reign.

.

* * *

 

.

“You’ll encounter Dementors in your life, Harry,” Professor Lupin said urgently, ignoring that Harry was almost at the other side of the room to avoid him. “You can’t keep getting sidetracked by your instincts. You’ll have to practice.”

Harry glared at the man and then glared at her wand when it yielded no results.

“A happy memory?” she asked. “Does it matter what sort?”

Professor Lupin looked conflicted. “The strength of what you feel matters and nothing else,” he said firmly, sounding like Hermione when she was reciting from memory.

.

* * *

 

.

_There was darkness and numbing heat, a throbbing pain that started from her shoulders and radiated to her entire body._

_Her chest felt hollow and unbeating, her eyes contracted and expanded, she could feel the very shifting of the cells in her body._

_Was this normal?_

_A door opened and a woman entered. She was familiar and then Harry remembered. She was Aunt Petunia._

_“Aunt?” she whispered and flinched at the sound of her voice. It sounded changed, hollow and slightly echoing. “Aunt?”_

_Her aunt gave her a glass, it looked like Kool-Aid. Harry drank it obediently and shivered when it touched her tongue. Something retracted in her mouth and it felt like fangs._

_Was this what other people went through and that’s why Uncle Vernon was always hot-tempered?_

_“Aunt Petunia?” Harry whispered. “Is something wrong with me?”_

_Aunt Petunia finally sat on the bed and embraced her, thin arms encircling her shoulders. “No, Harry. Nothing is wrong with you. I’m with you, dear one. I’ll never leave you alone.”_

_It was the first embrace the little girl had ever received in her memory._

_._

* * *

 

_._

“Expecto Patronum!” she enunciated carefully.

A graceful elk leaped out and Harry felt vindictively happy that she could make such a thing.

Abruptly, the elk vanished and Harry was reminded that she was in a room with the foul-smelling creature called Professor Lupin.

“Congratulations, Harry,” the Professor said softly. “If I may ask, what was the memory?”

Her angelic features twisted into a snarl. “No, you may not ask.”

Harry didn’t flee. She just prevented bloodshed.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry tried to doze by the fireplace and kept getting jolted awake by yelling.

Fed up, Harry opened red eyes and snarled at the combatants. “What on earth has you so noisy?” she growled.

Ron and Hermione froze. Actually, everyone in the Common Room froze. They had heard Harry making softly whispered threats that were as effective as a knife on the throat. But this was the first time they had heard her really irritated.

“U-um,” Hermione stuttered. “R-Ron thinks that my pet Crookshanks ate his rat.”

Ron regained his temper. “That cat kept attacking my pet rat. And Scabbers has needed rest since our visit to Egypt because he got struck ill by the heat,” he yelled.

Harry stood up and everybody went to the walls of the room.

“So,” she drawled out softly. “You are blaming her for the incompetence you have at keeping your pet caged properly?”

Ron turned red and looked ready to fly into a rage. The Weasley Twins palmed their faces.

“No matter,” Harry muttered. “I will find your pet and you better pay me back. I rather like the taste of Weasley blood. The scent of your rat is rather distinctive anyway.”

.

* * *

 

.

Harry found it when Hermione dragged her to the hut of the Gamekeeper Hagrid.

She hadn’t visited him since because of the overbearing sunlight and the fact that someone kept borrowing her umbrella for pranks.

Seeing the inside of the hut for the first time, she regretted not coming sooner. It smelled fascinating. And smelled of rat too, now that she focused on it.

“Scabbers is here,” she announced to Hagrid, breaking whatever thing Hermione was ranting about. “Can I search for him?”

The half-giant gave her a kind smile. “No need. I found it already and would have given it to Ron the first chance I got.”

It was very interesting. The rat didn’t smell ill. He reeked of fear.

.

* * *

 

.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Harry started conversationally, not even trying to crouch down since her small frame was easily hidden by the large pumpkins. “How do you manage to be in two places at once? I have been trying to split myself in two, but you are doing it easily and you are whole as well.”

Hermione jerked and slid down the pumpkin, her bushy hair the only thing visible. Harry wondered if Hermione could hide the rest of herself if she shaved her hair. Perhaps a hat?

“That’s a secret,” Hermione answered with a strangled voice. “I’m not allowed to say.”

Harry just shrugged. Personally, she found her way better.

.

* * *

 

.

It was the dog. The dog from Privet Drive. It bounded towards her and barked at her arm, where she was holding the rat.

His barks sounded hysterical and angry. Harry’s keen eyes noted the shifting muscles under the fur and realized he was about to jump her.

“You will do no such thing,” she told the dog firmly. “Stop that angry barking, it’s hurting my ears. We will discuss this like civilized beings in a properly secret place. Do you know somewhere?”

The dog darted back to the Whomping Willow. Hermione looked exasperated. “Harry, you can’t mean to follow him!” she exclaimed.

Harry was confused. True that there were some things that could kill her. But as long as she remained vigilant and careful, she wouldn’t be staked or held trapped by magic. That dog was the least threatening thing she had ever encountered. Aunt Petunia was scarier.

.

* * *

 

.

“So,” she mused, her foot crushing Pettigrew’s thigh bones and keeping him pinned in place. “You and this rat and my father were all animagi.”

The escaped convict nodded. He seemed riveted by the sight of Pettigrew being injured by a delicate foot. “To keep our friend, Moony, from hurting himself. He was a werewolf, you see.”

Harry wrinkled her nose. “Like Professor Lupin? That man smells most foul.”

Sirius Black jerked up and stared. “Lupin? He is teaching here?”

She shrugged and nudged Pettigrew’s ribs with her free foot. It broke two of his ribs and the man muffled a scream.

“He is the new DADA professor. He is a good teacher, but he smells atrocious and seems to insist on teaching me the Patronus Spell,” she answered.

Sirius laughed a little hysterically.

.

* * *

 

.

“The adventures you seem to get into,” Dumbledore said, eyes merrily twinkling. Harry wanted to gouge them out.

Harry sniffed delicately. “I don’t look for them,” she stated firmly. “Nor do I go out of my way to wish for one. I just had the misfortune of being sorted into the house of really nosy people and they seem to drag me into them.”

Professor McGonagall laughed wetly, tears being carefully wiped away by a handkerchief. Professor Lupin and Sirius Black were in each other’s arms, sharing hugs and little stories that made them laugh. It was a tearful, joyous reunion and Harry wanted nothing to do with it.

.

* * *

 

.

“I’m dropping Muggle Studies and Divination,” Hermione announced to Harry. “It’s too much of a hassle.”

Harry cocked her head to the side. “So, how were you splitting yourself?”

A golden hourglass was described and Harry’s interest was piqued.

“How interesting,” she murmured. “If only I could loan one too, there would be various people to do favors for and there would be none of this ‘pacing yourself’ business.”

Hermione laughed. “But since you’d be living twice, you’d have to be eating twice too.”

Harry froze and then her delicate face twisted in annoyance.

.

* * *

 

.

Dudley was with Aunt Petunia when Harry disembarked from the train.

Harry stopped midway from running to her Aunt and gave Dudley a ferocious scowl.

“Um,” Dudley started. “Ever since I could dream, I’ve been dreaming about a cousin.”

Harry went a bit closer but stayed out of arms reach.

“My father is not a nice man,” he continued. “And, since Mum divorced him right after my memories stopped, I thought he killed you.”

Harry stepped even closer but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t that Dudley had anything to ask forgiveness for, nor did Harry hold any grudge against him.

It was just that Harry would have to share Aunt Petunia’s attention and it irked her.

“We’ll see,” Harry murmured.

.

* * *

 

.

Her apparent Uncles dropped by before Harry could even begin to unpack.

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Aunt Petunia’s face twisted at the sight of both of them, and they paused at the sight of her too.

“You smelly creature,” Harry announced, finally free of the constraints of the school and could fully express her opinion of the man. “Why are you here?”

Remus laughed. Sirius nudged him on the ribs with a grin.

“We’re here because we missed her formative years,” Remus answered in a professional voice. “Sirius is here because he wants to play with you. Can we come in?”

Aunt Petunia looked at Harry’s scowl and then glanced at Dudley’s curious face.

“Only on weekends,” Aunt Petunia conceded. “And on Tuesdays.”

Dudley looked bewildered. “Technically,” he muttered to his mum. “Technically, Harry will always be in her formative years.”

Harry heard him anyway and sniffed at him. It was a fair bit frightening to be sniffed at by a vampire and Dudley jumped back.

Aunt Petunia laughed.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth Year Part I

Even if the wizarding world called Harry a vampire, any vampire she would meet would say she isn’t a proper one.

That is, she had not yet drunk the blood of her sire.

It didn’t really matter to Harry, only that she knew where her sire was and, if she met him, would probably be compelled to serve him. In the depths of her mind she knew this and did not care.

Nobody told her what to do, not even her instincts.

.

* * *

 

.

“I am not pleased,” she said. It really was too bloody early and Harry wanted nothing to do with _hiking_ , even if dawn was just a couple of wispy clouds covering the earliest bits of sunlight.

It was still _sunlight_.

Harry went all out and managed to get a raincoat to cover her, as well as an umbrella and a large hat. Coupled with the sunglasses, she looked a little ridiculous.

Aunt Petunia kept sending her exasperated glances.

“You can stay in the tent until it’s time for the match,” Remus cajoled.

Harry wrinkled her nose at him.

.

* * *

 

.

Their tickets said, “Top Box”.

Harry didn’t mind the heights, even if Aunt Petunia turned an alarming shade of white. Harry looked around the stadium and found the scent of human to be very tantalizing. The energy they exuded was interesting.

“I’ve never really found any of these events worth it,” she remarked to Aunt Petunia. “But this is interesting. There is so much food here.”

Aunt Petunia recovered enough to laugh when Dudley’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Remember Harry, it’s not polite to eat before you ask,” she said. “And it’s not polite to talk to people and thinking about eating them too.”

.

* * *

 

.

The scarred redhead, Charlie Weasley, was there with the rest of his family.

Harry gave him a pleased smile and the man gave her a nod in return.

It was a bit difficult to focus on watching the wizards zoom about on their brooms since the lovely scent wafted to her. Years of control managed it and Harry sighed as she reclined on Sirius.

“All of them are moving rather slow,” she remarked to the man, watching the by-play without need of the binoculars. “And the snitch has been hovering by the goalposts for a while.”

Sirius looked surprised. “That’s on the other side of the stadium, Harry.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “And?”

.

* * *

 

.

Everybody celebrated and Harry took advantage of the distractions to sneak away and drink a cup of Charlie’s blood. The man had it prepared by his foot while he reclined near the river.

“Thank you,” she sighed. “Your blood is truly wonderful. It’s a wonder you haven’t been eaten yet by someone with less manners than I.”

He laughed. “I handle dragons,” he said. “I can certainly handle a vampire.”

Harry was affronted. She tossed back the meal like a shot glass and dissolved into the darkness, letting icy-cold fingers materialize enough to touch his neck. “Can you?” she asked. “I will be very interested in seeing that.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Harry, stop that!”

She laughed and vanished.

.

* * *

 

.

Aunt Petunia listened to her mutter under her breath for an hour before giving up and shaking her.

Harry glared.

“Don’t give me that, young lady,” she said sternly. “I’ve received the same glares when I tell you to clean your room. Now, tell me what has you so upset.”

Slowly, Harry told it to her amused aunt.

“The way I see it,” she mused. “That young man was trying to act brave. It must have been very difficult for him, you are rather frightening on a good day, Harry.”

Harry _preened_.

.

* * *

 

.

Before the screams started, Harry was already moving to see the problem.

The scent of smoke preceded the terror filled cries and Harry went to see the source, only to be stopped short by a barrage of spell fire from fully grown wizards wearing bone white _masks_.

Harry frowned, and the old man in her reminded her of her unaware companions. _All of them asleep and unable to defend themselves._

The young, ruthless businessman told her that it would probably be wise to eat one and find out what was happening, and then go fetch her companions.

Harry agreed and snagged one, opening her mouth wider than it usually went. Blood splattered on the grass and nobody took note in the darkness of the night.

She wanted to expel him right back since he tasted like old wine and moldy socks.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry woke the rest of her companions by staring at them.

Nothing quite beats the fright of having a vampire stare at you while you sleep. All of them woke in less than five seconds, feeling the weight of a predator’s gaze. Remus woke within a second, limbs flailing and wand automatically pointed towards Harry’s heart…that is, if she were a couple of feet taller.

Harry bit back her amusement and told them what she gleaned from the wizard she ate, a man by the name of Walden MacNair.

“You should be pleased,” she told the horrified Remus. “I ate him for you. He tasted quite foul. Far fouler than anything, even you, Remus.”

Aunt Petunia was torn between laughing at Remus’s expression, and scolding Harry for eating someone _whole_.

She had the strange opinion that eating people whole would result in indigestion. Harry always looked at her blankly when she said that.

.

* * *

 

.

“Something interesting is happening in your school this year, little bat,” Sirius announced gleefully once Harry climbed out of her basement, yawning and bleary-eyed.

“A massacre or an orgy?” Harry mumbled, still half-asleep.

Aunt Petunia screeched. “What?”

Harry paused on the stairs and recovered her wits. “Oh, I meant orchestra.”

Aunt Petunia calmed down and Harry went about her way, exchanging a look of amusement with Dudley. She was strangely sensitive about the topic of sex around Harry.

Unfortunately, Harry often slipped. She knew more about sex than an average girl ought to know, even from the men’s point of view.

The people she ate were often talkative.

.

* * *

 

.

“Your shopping list seems to include a dress,” Aunt Petunia said, looking over the list. “I wonder what dress we can fit you with.”

Unbidden, the image of the Hogwarts Express came up and Harry sighed dreamily. “Aunt Petunia, would it be possible to get a dress the color of blood? Bright red, if possible.”

Aunt Petunia looked to a smiling Harry, for once not giving out a creepy smile but a normal smile a little girl might have.

“Alright,” she conceded. “Just this once.”

Harry beamed.

.

* * *

 

.

The rest of her food sources find time to visit Harry in the duration of the journey.

She doesn’t exactly mind because she finally managed to acquire a cloth to cover the windows and block the sunlight and can finally read a book in peace.

“Father says I should I have gone to Durmstrang,” Malfoy said loudly, interrupting her concentration. “But mother didn’t want me going away so far.”

Harry cocked her head to the side and shadow-travelled to his compartment, emerging from the darkness and making everybody scream.

“P-Potter,” Malfoy stuttered. “What do you want?”

She gave him a considering look. “You were saying something so loudly,” she murmured. “You obviously wanted people to hear you. So here I am, and listening.”

They all stared in stunned silence.

“Go on,” she purred.

.

* * *

 

.

“I can’t believe you, Harry!” Angelina said, though she was holding back laughter. “I can’t believe you. All I had to do to find you was look for the darkest compartment, and if that failed, follow the screams.”

Harry was a bit affronted. “I am not that predictable,” she muttered.

Alicia Spinnet nodded. “You aren’t, Harry. But when you get bored…well, there are certain things that happen. Screaming is one of them.”

Harry sniffed delicately, pleased. “I didn’t even go out of my way to make them all scream,” she said. “Wussies, all of them.”

Katie laughed. “So they are. Hey, Harry. Do you have a dress bought already?”

Harry would have usually noticed the change of subject, but this gave her the chance to brag about her blood-red dress robes.

.

* * *

 

.

The moment the doors of the Great Hall opened, Harry’s instincts alerted her to the entry of a greater, more dangerous predator.

Mad-eye Moody’s magical eye focused on her with pin point accuracy and if Harry were a cat, she’d have her hackles raised.

As it was, Harry just smiled, showing a smile filled with sharpened teeth. Beneath her feet, the shadows gathered for travel, for a quick escape or a quick attack, whatever she felt like doing.

Everybody around her tensed to duck, waiting for the barrage of spell fire aimed to kill a vampire.

Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly and the mad Auror continued limping towards the teacher’s table.

Harry sighed. “Pity. That would have been fun,” she murmured.

Those who heard her looked incredulous.

“Bloody nuts,” Ron muttered.

The announcement for the Tri-Wizard Tournament seemed small, compared to that.

.

* * *

 

.

Classes were more or less the same.

Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology were easy, History was amusing because Harry would often debate with herself if it was worth getting a nap or hunting around the castle for something interesting to do. Potions was still a hazard to those who weren’t a dark creature and Arithmancy made her yawn.

The complex numbers and concepts were simple when you had a math professor in you reciting something about mnemonics, charts, diagrams and graphs.

Harry itched to introduce _Algebra_ and _Calculus_ to those who complained about the difficulty of Arithmancy.

Ancient Runes was interesting because they had finally entered into practical applications and one of the students asked about runes against dark creatures, saying it around a glare at Harry.

Harry grinned, showing off teeth. That was one of her victims in practicing her stare at sleeping people.

Defense against the Dark Arts made Harry’s blood boil and more than one student in her year wondered if it was possible to skip that class, all of them tired of being afraid of being hit by a stray spell.

.

* * *

 

.

“It is possible, you know,” she told the murmuring, angry fourth year Gryffindors. “The only things you need to get to fifth year are a certain number of essays and to keep it at a consistent grade, and to attend the end-of-the-year exams, and pass that too.”

Everybody was already used to her sudden appearances and didn’t even scream. Harry suppressed a pout.

“How do you know that?” Ron asked her at the same time Neville said, “Is that why you don’t attend History of Magic, Harry?”

Harry nodded. “I read the teacher’s handbook. The pet professor may have tasted funny, but he did remember what to do to make sure his students passed.”

Several people blanched, especially the girl. “You _ate_ Professor Lockhart?” Parvati asked.

Harry waved her hands irritably. “He tasted terrible. Like soap and that funny little thing that my aunt uses to make the clothes smell nice.”

Lavender laughed vindictively. “Good! His pixies ripped out a chunk of my hair. Bloody arse! It took a while for it to grow back too.”

There was more angry murmuring and Harry practiced jumping.

Hermione was the one to mention it, unable to bear it. “Harry, can you please get down from the ceiling? My neck hurts looking at you.”

Just for the fun of it, Harry shadow-traveled behind Hermione.

“Okay,” Harry said, making all of them jump.

Harry wandered away, the shadows gathering under her feet. When she got far enough, Seamus Finnegan said, “I think she enjoys making people jump.”

Harry chuckled and tried the library.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry’s nighttime wandering continued and so too did the strange things she saw.

The lost little first year was no longer a first year, and neither was she so lost.

Harry smelled the blood on her, as well as the exhaustion.

“Hello,” Harry said, dropping from the ceiling. “You smell injured.”

The then-third year smiled a little, her face as absent as ever but her eyes sharp and sad. “I suppose I am. Does it smell delicious?”

Harry smiled. “Yes. You smell like springtime and clouds. If I do you a favor, can I eat from you?”

The student’s eyes focused on her with intensity. “I don’t suppose anyone ever asked you to limit your favors? There’s a small difference, you know.”

Anyone else would have been lost at what she was saying, but Harry understood. Blood was, to Harry, merely a currency. To the student, it would be a kindness in exchange for some discomfort. Some might start to think Harry as _tame_. Or Merlin forbid, _nice_.

“Don’t worry,” Harry assured her as she handed her the empty blood bag. “I’ve trained all my food sources to understand. I can always ask this way – nicely that is. Or I can just take without permission. But Aunt Petunia said to always ask because it would be rude.”

Her name was Luna and her blood tasted sweet, like the muggle drink called soda.

The next day, her tormentors found themselves flinching at shadows and too paranoid of fanged smiles to bother the strange Ravenclaw girl.

.

* * *

 

.

Hermione had taken it unto herself to launch a campaign against the apparently enslaved creatures of the kitchen, otherwise known as house-elves. Ron had taken one look at her new project and declared it rubbish.

So, they argued.

This wasn’t news. Both of them were careful to keep their tone down whenever they argued in the Common Room, where Harry was usually found having a Noon time nap. They had learned their lesson the first time.

Harry didn’t pay them any mind. All of the Gryffindors were used to their arguments, seeing as one happened every other week or so to set one or both of them off.

She listened though, especially when Ron used her as an example.

“You can’t just take away their work for them,” Ron said. “That’s like taking away Harry’s blood supply. It would be bad for her health!”

Hermione looked taken aback at the analogy and glanced at the aforementioned vampire. Said vampire just cocked her head to the side and listened.

“It’s not the same!” Hermione argued back. “Harry needs it to survive. The house-elves don’t need it to survive.”

“Really?” Ron asked sardonically. “And what do you suppose they do then? Twiddle their thumbs?”

They were getting out of hand. Harry stood up and went to the armchairs farther away from the noise to try to get a bit of sleep. Hermione deterred that though.

“Harry,” she called. “What do you do when you get starved?”

Those listening directed incredulous looks at the bookworm. Harry considered the question.

“Well,” she mused, voice low but carrying. “I manage, for three months without eating, but it would be a bit uncomfortable. When I get really hungry though, my instincts overpower my senses and woe betide anyone who crosses my path. That’s when I usually eat people whole, without asking.”

The argument ended on that uncomfortable note and Harry happily went back to her nap.

.

* * *

 

.

The Unforgivable Curses were the topic and everyone was forced to attend, even the Gryffindors who had taken to skipping DADA every other meeting or so.

And then, there was suddenly the talk of trying the Imperious on people and Harry scowled when the Gryffindors huddled behind her.

Ridiculous, seeing as Harry couldn’t cast a shadow, nor was she tall enough to hide someone.

“Quit hiding behind that,” Moody barked. “Finnegan!”

And people started doing strange acrobatics, singing really weird songs and doing back flips and triple loops that had some of them chuckling nervously.

Harry perched on the back of a chair and flipped back, deftly avoiding the red jet of light aimed at her.

“Hah!” Moody laughed savagely, before he increased his firing and finally got her.

 _‘Drink Granger’s blood,’_ a voice in her head instructed.

The iron will that governed Harry, as well as the willfulness that every vampire was reborn with, rose up and stomped on that order.

“Really?” Harry asked. “Is that really the Imperious curse?” Harry’s eyes turned red and she smiled, fangs extending. “How _weak_.”

.

* * *

 

.

“Your terrible, Harry,” Dean muttered, slumping on a nearby chair.

Harry turned to him, while her hand busily worked on a four dozen personalized review pamphlets.

Dean took the silence as invitation and continued. “He’s been in a bad mood _all week_. I don’t think you should tell a retired Auror that he got weak. It’s not good on his ego.”

Harry laughed, making Dean shudder at the eerie sound. “His record boosts his ego. He needs to be stomped on once in a while. Everyone does.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Even you?”

Harry scowled.

.

* * *

 

.

The new delegates for the Tri-Wizard Tournament arrived with great pomp and splendor. All of them were trying to outdo each other and Harry was reminded of Aunt Petunia and her gossiping moments with the Lady’s Tea Circle.

The comparison was weird, but it seemed to fit.

The carriage with the winged horses made her scowl. It was so bright and _sparkly_. Harry hated it. And then the ship rose from the depths of the Black Lake.

Harry’s interest was piqued. It was creepy looking and it looked like something out of a haunted pirate story.

“Don’t think about it,” one of the prefects hissed at her. “Whatever it is, just don’t.”

Harry tried to look angelic and innocent. Sadly, that had only worked when she was still a first year.

.

* * *

 

.

Many of the new people stopped and stared.

Harry didn’t mind, even if her food sources bristled protectively behind her. They smelled fascinating and different. Viktor Krum, who was pointed out excitedly by Ron, smelled a contradictory combination of the coldness and freedom. He was a blizzard.

“If I drink from him,” she wondered softly. “Would the blood freeze in my mouth?”

He also smelled very interested in Hermione.

“Do take care around that one,” she told Hermione in the rare moments that Harry entered the girl’s dormitory. She perched on the bed that was assigned to her, which the girls used as an extra place to place their books and arrange their homework.

“Why?” the bookworm asked.

Harry just hummed.

.

* * *

 

.

Something exotically scented and spicy entered Harry’s line of sight.

Harry wrinkled her nose and wondered what to compare her with. Chinese take-out or Mexican food?

“Yes?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.

“You are a vampire,” the girl stated. Her accent was very strong, but Harry’s ears were a bit more keen.

Harry just waited. If she was going to be stating what was obvious, then she didn’t need help.

“Why are you allowed here?” she demanded.

Now, wasn’t that the question?

Harry smiled. “You know, you aren’t the first one to ask me that. I suppose it’s because of this mark.”

The long, tumbling dark hair that often hid parts of Harry’s face was shifted away and revealed the pale face, large emerald eyes and the faded, almost silvery, lightning bolt scar.

The girl looked appalled. “ _You’re Harry Potter_.”

Oh, the horror on her face. Perhaps the news of her vampirism wasn’t quite as wide spread as Hagrid told her it was.

Or maybe she was just that used to saying the obvious.

“Yes, I know,” Harry said irritably.

.

* * *

 

.

There was something strange going on.

It took Harry a while to notice it, but she did because nobody was more attuned to their body than a vampire.

But this time, it wasn’t her body that was being rebellious, but her mind.

She suddenly found herself _admiring_ the way the light accented the bronze skin of the Hufflepuff boys, and the way the damned sunlight _glinted_ off the hair of the Slytherin, Blaise Zabini.

Harry understood, with some help from those inside her, and she wished she didn’t.

Her mind had matured late even if her body was forever stuck as a seven year old.

She wished it hadn’t.

It was painful to watch, to be treated as a child when you no longer considered yourself one, just because you still looked like one.

Harry _hated_ it.

.

* * *

 

.

The sudden onset of broodiness was offset by the kind and cheerful nun that lived inside Harry.

None of the creatures inside her really had a say in how she went about her life, but she knew that they had experienced more diverse and difficult things than her and she used that to learn.

The cheerful nun taught Harry that causing trouble for other people, just because you were in pain, was just petty and childish. Rising above the pain was gracious and divine.

Harry wrinkled her nose at the ‘divine’ bit but accepted the idea.

She still found a way to vent out her ire at the Whomping Willow, but that was her secret and the bloody tree couldn’t talk.

.

* * *

 

.

The Goblet of Fire was just as dramatic and sparkly as all the other things that wizards seemed to make.

Harry looked at it with distaste and shuddered every time the thing flicked and flickered in imaginary light.

Except it wasn’t quite so imaginary, given that Harry could faintly see the little traces of magic that pushed and pulled at it, making the thing look like fire.

“Are you listening?” Hermione hissed.

No. Harry didn’t care. It was such a revoltingly happy piece of magic and Harry wanted to get away from it.

.

* * *

 

.

“Are you entering the competition?” one of the Weasley Twins asked her.

Harry shrugged. “I have no interest in money, or fame. While I do not think the Age Line would work on my kind, I’d rather not be involved.”

“Why not?” the other one prodded.

Harry sighed, giving up on peace and quiet. “It might involve daylight,” she said solemnly. “Or that Merlin-damned Lake.”

Both of them stifled their laughter, but Harry didn’t care. Something about water just made her skin crawl.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry vehemently denied any wish to be involved in the competition so when her name came out of the Goblet, everybody looked shocked. Her food sources were appalled, watching her face and dreading the inevitable tantrum.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth Year Part II

“No,” she said, close to stamping her foot.

The headmistress for Beauxbatons, who smelled a lot like Hagrid, looked like she was suppressing the urge to coo at Harry. Harry wanted to eat her.

Everyone else knew the danger and gave her a wide berth.

“You have to compete, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore coaxed. “Or else you’d lose your magic.”

Harry gave him a skeptical look, as did everyone else.

The only reason she had stayed in Hogwarts so _willingly_ was because Aunt Petunia needed a break from looking after a very young vampire. Well, that’s what Hagrid used to convince her to attend.

Losing her magic, which she didn’t use very often, wasn’t much to coerce her. She was more of a vampire than a witch.

“I don’t really care,” she told him. “I’d rather lose my magic than join this ridiculous tournament. I don’t use it often, anyway.”

Ludo Bagman opened his mouth, no doubt to try to convince her, but Harry _looked_ at him.

There were no fangs involved, or flashy vampiric abilities. Just a plain show of temper. She glared at him, focusing on the stupid creature her ire, her dislike of the entire thing, and how _weak_ and insect-like she found him.

The blood rushed from his face so quickly that it was a miracle he didn’t faint. He staggered back and closed his mouth with a snap.

Harry left, sneering at him as she went.

.

* * *

 

.

There was a division among her house, but not on what Harry thought it would be.

One half thought she should compete. The other half wanted her not to compete, just to prove a point.

Everything got settled once Harry was asked by Alicia Spinnet.

“Why don’t you want to compete, Harry?” Alicia asked. “I thought you’d like to do a challenge.”

Harry bared her fangs in irritation. “And what?” she snarled. “Give those creatures entertainment, to be treated like a prize bull and compete for the sake of a good meal? To be treated like a _beast_ , just because they could? I’m not a pet, and neither are all of you. Free will isn’t a game, or a last resort. I don’t play by their rules. I only came to give my aunt a holiday.”

They all looked contrite, but very pleased.

Harry wondered what she said that made them champion her cause.

.

* * *

 

.

The rest of Hogwarts didn’t seem to get the memo.

Harry thought the rest of Hogwarts didn’t have a brain.

The Hufflepuff’s looked at her suspiciously, as though she’d break her word. The Ravenclaws sniffed at her, as though she smelled foul. The Slytherin’s made fun of her, as though she was something to ridicule.

The Gryffindor’s looked at the rest of the school and agreed with Harry.

Within a fortnight, there were screams, terrorized students and a large number of the faint hearted flocking to the Hospital Wing, asking for Calming Draught.

Professor Dumbledore was stumped. When asked, Harry would only say that she stared at them.

She didn’t say that she stared at them in their sleep, nor did she say that she kept illusions in her place, of foul and fell things.

Sleep-deprivation was something humans seemed to find terrible to suffer from and Harry enjoyed exploiting that weakness.

.

* * *

 

.

Hagrid told her about the first task, the sweet thing.

He seemed to be under the impression that Harry would harm the poor beasties. Poor beasties being huge, fire-breathing dragons.

Harry always did think Hagrid was functioning without a few important cogs, but that one cemented it.

Fire, one of the few things that could kill her and Hagrid worried about the bloody dragon.

.

* * *

 

.

The first task was done on a bright and sunny day.

Harry huddled under her umbrella, her hat and her raincoat. She fiddled with her sunglasses and put them on.

It was always easy to locate her, given the umbrella and the way the non-Gryffindors seemed to give her a wide berth.

The rest of the Champions did their task and Harry listened with her eyes closed.

Bagman, clearly remembering Harry’s tantrum, didn’t even make a mention of the untouched, unused fourth golden egg and large, scaly dragon.

People booed her and her food sources took arms and hissed back, doing a credible imitation of Harry and scaring everyone off.

Harry listened to this and laughed, a sound far more effective in silencing people than anything. Hermione once described it as eerie, seemingly to echo from an empty space. Ron called it bloody creepy.

.

* * *

 

.

“I think I’ve been a bad influence on you,” she remarked in the Common Room.

More than half of the Gryffindors had broken friendships because of the other House’s opinion of Harry. She didn’t really make them do so, or mind the opinions, but they did it anyway.

And then there was the matter of skipping DADA.

While Alastor Moody was a very good Auror and it was very obvious he was _experienced_ , the way he kept attacking Harry made everybody angry. Hence, the boycott.

“Nonsense,” Lee Jordan said. “Think of it as a positive influence.”

Harry snorted.

.

* * *

 

.

“The Yule Ball,” Professor McGonagall said. “Everybody must find a partner, dance and let their hair down. Relax but not to make mischief.”

Harry scowled in her corner but didn’t say anything.

“Who are you going with?” Parvati asked her.

Harry sighed. “Do you know anybody that could bear to dance with me?”

Lavender, on Parvati’s other side, scowled at her. “Don’t be like that, Harry. You’re beautiful and take pride in being a woman.”

Harry spared her a smile.

.

* * *

 

.

It happened, like all things, by accident.

Harry’s shadow whirled beneath her while she stared at herself curiously in front of a full-length mirror. It covered her and her curiosity allowed it, letting the darkness take little bits of her strength.

When the darkness finished, Harry stifled a sob.

The Harry in the mirror looked her appropriate age, her body fourteen and her hair appropriately long. Her eyes were no longer too large for her face.

Harry closed her eyes and concentrated, letting everything shatter like glass.

When she opened them, she was again in the body of a seven year old.

Harry broke the mirror.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry found Ron and Hermione to be ridiculous.

Both of them smelled of desire and interest and neither of them did anything.

She lounged in the Common Room and watched both of them argue, Ron saying something to rile her up and Hermione saying something to make him feel stupid.

It was an argument filled with hidden meanings. She comforted herself that she would never suffer from it. Her keen nose would always let her know what people were feeling.

Harry grinned toothily when she felt someone look at her. A squeak nearby made her laugh. First years.

.

* * *

 

.

“Will you go out to the Yule Ball with me?” he asked her.

Harry dropped from the ceiling and considered him, really looking at him instead of letting her eyes slide past him.

“Are you suffering from something?” she asked. “Nobody really likes going out with a vampire.”

He shrugged. “You’re interesting, Potter. And while I don’t like balls, you can make it bearable.” Harry’s confusion must have shown on her face. He added, “Gryffindor’s can gossip, you know. Your comments are, and to quote: ‘Straight to the point, no holds barred painful if it’s aimed at you. But if it’s not, it’s bloody damn entertaining.’”

That was honesty, if her nose could be trusted.

“And I don’t mind your appearance,” he mused. “If I heard it properly, you’d find a way around that, wouldn’t you?”

Harry laughed and said yes.

.

* * *

 

.

It was snowing.

Harry always appreciated the wards of Hogwarts. One moment the ground was bare but the wind icy, the next day the grounds would be covered by heaps of snow.

It was the most interesting thing.

“The Weasley’s are making a snow fort,” Romilda asked her. “Are you joining, Harry?”

For the first time, there were enough people in Hogwarts to have a snow battle.

“Sure,” she agreed, not bothering to change into warmer clothes. The cold wouldn’t touch her anyway. “I’ll be a one man army.”

.

* * *

 

.

“That,” George Weasley puffed. “Was cheating, Harry.”

Harry laughed, skipping merrily on top of the snow, managing to keep her weight light enough that she didn’t sink into it.

“It’s not my fault you lot are just so slow,” she taunted.

Everybody exchanged glances.

“New rule,” one of the girls said, eyes narrowed. “Everybody, take down that vampire.”

She shrieked with laughter, ducking behind snowballs and not even using her speed to give people a chance. She couldn’t help her grace and mobility though, and the fact that she really couldn’t trip over lose stones or shrubbery.

A stray snowball hit her with enough force and she fell into the snow, hat falling from her head and making her shield her face with a wince.

The barrage stopped immediately.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Oliver asked her.

A hand plucked the hat from the ground and settled it on her head. Harry rubbed her eyes and grimaced when it watered.

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a small smile.

Somebody cooed and then, echoing in the clearing, the word ‘cute.’

Everybody held their breath as Harry’s eyes narrowed.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry used the bathroom, idly listening to the girls talking as they all dressed.

It was gossip and comments, often interrupted with commentaries about hair and color of dress robes. Hermione’s hair, in particular, seemed to be the object of much frustration to the girls.

Harry put the last pin in place and winced at the… _tightness_ of the feeling, like she was wearing a wrongly sized body-suit.

“I’m done,” Harry announced, stepping out of the bathroom.

The girls _stared_.

Parvati broke the silence first. “Wow. Does that…” she trailed off.

Harry shrugged. “It is solid. But it hurts to keep up this illusion.”

Hermione, concerned, sweet Hermione, asked, “Do you need blood? I haven’t donated in a while, but if you need some…”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Harry said. “You won’t be able to enjoy yourself if you get there tired.”

.

* * *

 

.

Nobody recognized her.

It was extremely entertaining, watching people look at her and then do a second look.

It was entertaining, but she hated it too.

What she wore was merely an illusion and like all illusions, fake. While she was fourteen, she wasn’t physically fourteen.

It was a temporary fix for a temporary night.

.

* * *

 

.

As expected, he recognized her even with the added years placed on her physical form.

“You look wonderful,” he remarked. “And I should have expected you to wear red.”

She laughed. “You don’t need any compliments, Zabini.”

.

* * *

 

.

Harry’s knowledge on dancing came from the various people she ate. Most surprisingly, Lockhart actually knew all of the wizarding dances.

Blaise obviously appreciated her knowledge, his eyes sparkled with admiration.

Harry felt from the energy of the party and smiled happily, creeping several people out.

.

* * *

 

.

“Hagrid is a half-giant?” Ron announced with bewilderment during breakfast.

Some of the Gryffindors were frightened, but most of them looked to Harry and nodded calmly, apparently assured.

“Well,” one of the sixth year prefects said. “Harry’s a vampire and she’s perfectly alright.”

And that was that.

.

* * *

 

.

The second task was annoying, simply because they had taken one Charlie Weasley to be her hostage.

Ludo Bagman was on the run and had forgotten to tell the rest of the event’s organizers that the scary vampire wasn’t participating.

There were no romantic connotations to it.

It was like telling her that she could no longer eat her favorite food.

Harry prowled the shore of the Black Lake, irritable and deftly avoiding the lapping water.

Everybody avoided her and even Mr. Crouch looked regretful.

One by one the champions returned, knowing to avoid her by the thunderclouds on her face.

Cedric Diggory returned then, clutching a red-head and Cho-Chang.

Harry beamed at him, and then scowled at the water dripping down from her favorite meal.

“You’re wet,” she told him.

Charlie smiled tiredly. “Yes, so I am. Are you terribly angry at me, Harry?”

She sniffed.

.

* * *

 

.

The boycott couldn’t continue, sadly.

McGonagall was a busy witch, but it was inevitable that she would hear about it. Misdirection’s and bribes to certain castle portraits would only work so far.

The Weasley Twins looked particularly dejected.

“It was such a nice thing to have a legitimate reason not to attend class too,” one of them said mournfully.

.

* * *

 

.

The exams loomed over the horizon and her exam booklets became such a demand that people from other houses came over and made a deal with her, some of them dragging along people from the other schools too.

Harry was very pleased at the prospect of more meals and set aside the part-Veela’s blood for a more serious tasting. The aroma of it really was quite tempting.

.

* * *

 

.

Sirius and Remus practically pulled her into their arms the moment she appeared in Hogsmeade.

Harry allowed it, if only because the alternative was breaking some arms.

“We were so worried,” Remus told her and she held her breath, an unconscious thing she did ever since he started living with her.

“We wanted to come sooner,” Sirius apologized. “But your aunt delayed us by buying some blood. Apparently, she’s worried that you’ve injured yourself.”

Harry ignored everything else and ripped into the blood bags happily.

.

* * *

 

.

“Mr. Crouch is doubled?” Hermione asked the Weasley twins.

They nodded solemnly. “The parchment never lies, Hermione. If it says so, then it is so.”

Harry, listening in, sighed. “You people make things so complicated. The only way a person could have the same name if they were related, or named after the person.”

The group of fledgling investigators looked at each other and then ran to the headmaster’s office.

.

* * *

 

.

“Tell me, Ms. Potter,” the headmaster said, putting together his fingertips. “Your theory is that the only way two people could have the same name if they were related, or named after the person?”

Harry raised her eyebrows expectantly. “You are repeating my words back at me. Yes?”

Dumbledore shuffled the papers on his desk. “Mr. Barty Crouch had a son by the name of Barty Crouch Jr. He was convicted in Azkaban for being a Death Eater and died there as well. Not soon after, the wife died as well. Tell me then, how is the son in Hogwarts?”

Harry shrugged, and answered in the simple, irrefutable logic of a child. “Someone let him out of Azkaban. Someone let him hide. Someone let him inside Hogwarts. The main point to all of it, seemingly, is that Mr. Crouch Sr. is ill.”

All those listening, Dumbledore, the Weasley twins, Granger and the Head of the houses, looked wide-eyed.

“Ten points to Gryffindor, Ms. Potter,” Professor Flitwick said, though he sounded a bit shell-shocked.

Harry smiled at him.

.

* * *

 

.

Harry was called from class to meet the rest of the champions.

Just to be contrary, she didn’t appear, watching only from the windows and understanding, without needing to be told, that the next task would be held in a maze.

She sighed and wondered if she could hide in the Chamber of Secrets to avoid the sudden upsurge of hate-mail she was suddenly receiving.

Harry absently memorized the hedges and already knew which route to choose. She already knew she wouldn’t join in the third task, but some insurances were needed. The professor’s seemed quite adept at forcing her to join.

.

* * *

 

.

People _stared._

Simply because Harry’s family was there and the little girl was acting so giddy and so un-vampire-like that they had to rub their eyes to make sure they were seeing something real.

“I’ve missed you, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said. “Nobody really understands me here.”

Her aunt’s face was wry. “Harry, love. It seems you’ve grown into the teenager mindset without my notice. That is, more or less, the catch-phrase of all teenagers.”

Harry looked so horrified that Aunt Petunia laughed.

.

* * *

 

.

“Harry,” Dumbledore cajoled. “Why don’t you try the maze? I’m sure with your abilities, it will be a simple thing.”

The other headmasters bristled, seemingly infuriated that a dark creature was being allowed to use her abilities to cheat.

Harry glared at all of them.

“I have no intention of touching that trophy,” she hissed, annoyance dripping from her very words. “Anything I encounter in that maze, however, is free food.”

Before any of them could say anything to that implied threat, Harry went inside the maze, knowing that the direction she was taking would lead her to a dead end, but would take her through so many twists and turns that she could encounter as many things as possible.

Her footsteps were slow, almost lazy.

Harry had no intention of winning. Just delaying. Something smelled rotten in the proceedings, what with her teachers trying to force her to compete in a completely dangerous tournament.

Perhaps something was amiss?

She had been smelling something foul around Professor Moody, but maybe that was just his blood.

Without warning, something lobbed itself towards her and Harry automatically caught it.

The world vanished and whirled in a blur of lights. Harry cursed. That was a portkey.

.

* * *

 

.

“Harry?” Cedric asked, looking a bit surprised.

Harry didn’t even look. “Hello, Cedric. It seems that this was the real goal of the Tournament, to find a sacrifice for Lord Voldemort.”

The Hufflepuff looked constipated. “Harry, we’re in a graveyard,” he hissed.

She finally looked at him, exasperation on her face. “Yes, Cedric. We are in a graveyard. Now shush. I want to know why we’re here.” She considered something and then gestured to the Tri-wizard Cup. “You best be on your way. I’ll just stay here. Things are getting interesting.”

The Hufflepuff sighed and stuck a tracing charm on her robes. “I’ll be back with reinforcements,” he whispered.

She waved him away and continued watching, observing the large cauldron, the various ingredients that scented the air and the rot that lingered around the area.

The magic in the air was strong and angry.

“Where is she?” came a sibilant hiss. “Where is that filthy little thing?”

The scent drifted to her and she almost recoiled. It smelled terrible, of potions and dead things. Like a corpse itself, except it had a soul.

Harry nodded, her mind made up.

“Dessert,” she muttered. “Right after a sphinx.”

.

* * *

 

.

The homunculi, for that was what Voldemort had been reduced to, made Harry black out.

Digesting it made her feel terrible, the memories that assaulted her felt unclean. Most of all, eating him _wrong_. He felt incomplete inside her, like a piece of broken crockery that got misplaced.

Harry came to with a worried Aunt Petunia hovering over her and Sirius arguing in growls and pitched hisses with Snape.

If it were any other time, she would have been delighted to see the Potions Professor being argued with on even ground.

The pounding headache though, removed all options of happiness, relief, or just plain moving.

“You are all so bloody noisy,” she hissed. “Shut up or I’ll shut you up.”

There really is nothing quite as frightening as a pissed off vampire. A pissed off teenaged vampire at that. Their jaws snapped shut with an audible click.

“Harry dear,” Aunt Petunia said, patting at Harry’s forehead. “Mind your language. If you behave, I’ll give you something from your friends and admirers. I’ve checked, their all clean.”

What…?

Oohh! A pint of blood, with a straw.

Harry eagerly sat up and directed a pleading expression at her aunt.

Her aunt wasn’t a troll and gave in, handing her the container.

.

* * *

 

.

“So, who won?” she asked once she got into the Common Room.

Fred and George looked dejected. “Cedric did, that bloody git. At least he had the sense to thank you for saving his life.”

Harry laughed mirthlessly. “If he did stay in that graveyard, his blood would have boiled on that cauldron, seeing as I don’t produce any of mine naturally. The Dark Lord would have chained me with moonlight and tortured me, just to relieve his feelings.”

All those listening looked alarmed.

“How do you know that, Harry?”

She shrugged. “I ate him,”

People _gaped._

.

* * *

 

.

“So,” Dudley asked once she got settled on the carpet, her feet seemingly torn between taking shape or becoming fluid blackness. “How was your year?”

Sirius and Remus looked a bit amused at the question. Aunt Petunia was exasperated.

“Dudley,” Harry answered solemnly. “Last year had an escaped convict and a werewolf. This year had a dragon and a magical cauldron that tried to resurrect the Dark Lord.”

Dudley blinked at her blankly. “What?”

The adults all laughed.


	6. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting a Legend

Harry stared up at the ancient vampire that seemed to be finding amusement at her very existence. Not that Harry really cared about his opinion, but the way he sounded when he spoke seemed curious to her. It almost sounded like a thousand other souls were echoing his words.

"Hey, you old thing," she told him, uncaring of his ancient age, or what that would mean. If he wanted to hurt her, he would do so and not need a reason for it.

"What is it, little princess?" he asked, obviously humouring her. It sounded quite patronizing.

Harry ignored that, well used to people talking to her that way when she didn't use her gift.

"You sound like a thousand souls," she told him seriously. "How many people have you devoured whole?"

This time, she actually managed to surprise him.

"So you can hear that?" he mused. "I'm surprised. Perhaps your sire wasn't such a weak vermin after all. Or perhaps you're just innately special."

Harry scoffed. "There is no such thing as special, only a circumstance of birth."

He laughed. "True," he agreed. He crouched down and properly _looked_ at her. "You're one to talk though, little princess. You've devoured a fair few souls of your own."

She shrugged. "They were annoying," she said seriously. "And I had no need of them."

His smile could only be described as shark-like. Or more appropriately, vampire-like.

"Talking like that would one day get you in trouble. My master sends me to hunt out those that murder and kill indiscriminately," he warned her.

"I don't need to gorge," she sniffed irritably. "Or kill to get my meals. My food sources are always prompt at delivering what I want."

His eyes conveyed his real surprise. "And you obviously didn't have a sire to raise you properly," he said softly. "What a well-mannered thing you are."

_Well-mannered._

Harry frowned at him. "I don't like that word," she told him. "Refrain from using it in my presence. I am not a dog."

He laughed, long and heartily. "Oh, such little royalty."

She ignored his truly creepy laughter.

"I will grant you a boon, little princess," he told her as he stood up. "Since you didn't have a vampire to properly guide you in how to be a proper nosferatu."

He held out a finger and placed it on her forehead. Harry stayed carefully still. A single flick from his finger could cause her so much damage. She could feel the restrained strength from just one little touch. How monstrous he was.

And then, without any warning, information flooded her brain.

Images and little details she had half-guessed at and vaguely experimented in, all bombarding her. A normal person receiving such details would collapse with a nosebleed. Harry was a vampire and quivered, little limbs trembling as she tried to process it all. She didn't notice his finger removing itself from her forehead, nor of his very interested face watching her.

Within another two blinks, Harry blinked out of her stupor and scowled heavily at the ancient vampire.

"That was very rude of you," she said. "You could have warned me before you did so." His lips quirked into another savage grin and she ploughed on. "Nevertheless, it is interesting knowledge."

It was the best way she could say thank you, even if she had said it in the most roundabout way.

"Still," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "It would have been nice to know all of this when I was newly turned. It would have been nice to know that I can kill the voices in my head."

He patted her head with a chuckle. "You were doing remarkably well for a vampire untaught by her sire. A few more years and I don't think I could have taught you anything new."

"I just followed my instincts," she said irritably. "What more is there to it?"

He laughed again, sounding even more amused than anything.

"What is your name, by the way?" she eventually demanded.

He chuckled. "I am Alucard."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also available at [tumblr](http://ladyhallen.tumblr.com)


End file.
